


animal

by orphan_account



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Youngblood Chronicles, Gen, Where Did The Party Go? (Song)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-26 12:01:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1687589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And he struggled to get out, but he couldn't. He was too far gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	animal

**Author's Note:**

> idk i just rewatched the youngblood chronicles for the umpteenth time and well...

* * *

_He knew his eyes were yellow. He knew he was being controlled. But he still couldn't stop himself._

He tightened the cord around the man's neck, watching with an animalistic delight as the life slowly drained out of him. He hungered for death, for blood, for _revenge_. Revenge for what, he didn't know. He didn't care. As long as he could kill and kill and kill he was happy.

Not happy, though. He didn't know what happy was.

_He struggled to get out, to break through the thick surface of madness that_ she _had set upon him. He'd done it before, made his eyes change. He had to do it again before...before..._

The other man's hand reached up, scratched at the cord weakly, struggling for air. A cruel smile danced across the monster's face and he only pushed down harder, wrapped it tighter. There was a crash, muffled by the closed door. He paid no attention to it.

_Maybe it was the others. Maybe they'd come to save him. "Hurry!" he tried to shout, but nothing came out. His mouth didn't even open. And he struggled to get out, but he couldn't. He was too far gone._

The man on the operating table grew still. His hand stilled, dropped to his side. He was dead.

The door burst open suddenly, and there, there were two others, two _enemies_ , their faces taken over by horrified looks.

He was suddenly scared. His yellow eyes widened. He stood up carefully, like a wounded animal.

Why was he scared? He wasn't supposed to be scared. The whole _point_ was that he wouldn't ever be scared of anything.

_You're not scared, he told himself. You're not. Wake up. You've just killed someone. WAKE UP!_

His eyes faded back to their usual blueish-green. Pain crashed into him like a tidal wave; he could feel blood drying under his ear, still trickling down his face from a throbbing gash on his forehead, and everywhere the dull ache of being constantly battered and beaten, without respite. 

He looked around, confused.

His friends were still staring at him in shock. And the body on the table...

The body, with its wide blue eyes and bloodied face and purple, oxygen-deprived lips; the body, with it's wild mess of tangled curls; the body, with its limp hands and rigid legs; the body...

A dry sob forced its way through his lips. His legs wouldn't hold him and he slowly crashed to the ground. And he sat, his head in his hand (his other arm with the sharp hook lying useless next to him), sobs wracking his body, and his friends couldn't decide whether to hate him or pity him.

And he knew he'd have to retreat back into his mind, yield all control to the animal, the _thing_ , because he didn't have a choice. But by that time, he hoped, he'd be far away, enough to give the others time to go where they needed to go.


End file.
